The Road Home

To most eyes, this is just a dusty dirt road. To my heart, this is the road home.

This is the road that I cried on and drug my book bag on until it was a shredded mess one afternoon. My brother and sister had run ahead refusing to wait for me. I drug my feet and my bag feeling sorry for myself.

This is the road where I learned to drive. Back and forth I went in The Green Monster, a mint (mint in color not condition) green, double cab, Ford pickup truck whose clutch I tiptoed to reach and whose dashboard I strained to peek over.

This is the road that I walked in the snow without a jacket when a freak spring storm forced my mom and me to leave our stuck car in the ditch and make our way home on foot.

This is the road where Prince, a black and white Appaloosa whose common sense had been sucked out of his head by the years he spent stuck in a stall, greeted me and followed me home after school.

This is the road that sleeping bags and candy were carried down in the summertime while my cousins and I searched for a place to camp.

This is the road that I raced down in high school when I had stayed out too late and prayed my parents wouldn't notice.

This is the road to comfort, memories and family. This is the road home.